The case of Elián González, the 6-year-old Cuban boy whose mother drowned trying to get herself and her son to America, illustrated both the sanctimoniousness of the American Left in dismissing concerns about political and economic freedom under socialist governments, and the ineptitude of the American Right in articulating them.
The partisan wrangling over whether or not to allow the census bureau to supplement the traditional head-count method (’actual enumeration’) with statistically-derived estimates for the expected under-count in the 2000 census was enlightening only in the way it illustrated our leaders’ ability to miss the point.
Just as the whole mess was ending, I finally found a short, simple, elegant statement of why I, as so many others, was so angry with Bill Clinton: I detest a smart-ass. Bill Clinton is reckless, cowardly, and arrogant, starting trouble and running away, leaving those who trusted him to clean up the mess and pay for the damage, knowing he can get away with it because he is a smooth talker — and because he is in a position of power. It was distressing to have Bill Clinton as my President; it’s downright galling to have Eddie Haskell.
Here’s what I think of Bill Clinton: if he had a sense of shame the President would resign. But then, if he had a sense of shame, he wouldn’t need to.
That is also what I think of Kenneth Starr, of the congressional leadership, and of the entire national media.
This was written the day after Paula Jones’ sexual-harassment suit against Bill Clinton was thrown out of court by Judge Susan Webber Wright, and shortly after Gloria Steinem, Ellen Goodman Molly Ivins, and several other women known for their traditional support of feminist causes and attacks on male piggishness had written columns explaining why Paula Jones was not a victim of sexual harassment. I believe Judge Wright (and the others) was correct on the law; that, to me, is more disheartening than if she had been wrong.
I found the press coverage of the Monica Lewinsky story abhorrent. The fact that it focused on the tawdry and the titillating was merely an annoyance; the glee and excitement with which journalists and politicians seemed to savor the prospects of destroying reputations and careers, of bringing down the chief executive, of throwing the government into chaos, were frightening; and the fact that it was all based on what, for seven months, amounted to second-hand and unsubstantiated allegations was a moral affront.
I actually believed, even before Mr. Clinton’s mea culpa (such as it was), that there was more fire than smoke to this story, and what it says about the character of our president — not in his libido, but in his willingness to use the power with which we have entrusted him for personal aggrandizement — is appalling. But more appalling is the recklessness and vitriol with which the press pursued him: his misconduct, after all, reflects the failings of a flawed individual who will, in the end, be held to account by those who elected him; the misconduct of the press was systemic and unrestrained, and it will still be with us long after Bill Clinton is history.
The general state of race-relations in America has recently been highlighted nationally by President Clinton’s “Dialogue on Race”, and in California by ballot propositions like 187 (limiting government benefits to illegal immigrants) and 209 (eliminating state-sponsored affirmative-action). The desire for an unemotional and realistic conversation on race — where we stand, where we are headed, and where we want to be — is noble and desirable. It seems, however, that our initial attempts have been thwarted as much by the terms of the conversation as by the subject itself: just as the underlying context, assumptions, and forms of historical discrimination were largely defined by its beneficiaries (to whom ‘race-relations’ were a closed issue), the underlying context, assumptions, and forms of the fight against discrimination — and, more generally, of our discussions about race — have been largely defined by those to whom ‘race-relations’ have historically meant ‘race-based oppression’ — to whom ‘race-relations’ were very much an open issue and a dominant factor of their lives. While this is understandable, and perhaps even just, it almost ensures that racial difference is viewed and debated as a chasm to be crossed — or into which to fall — rather than as a boundary to be transcended.
It takes money to make money. Especially here in the Silicon Valley, where high rewards come from high risks bankrolled by big bucks.
This essay – minus the two paragraphs in the middle that refer to this project – was one of the first essays submitted for publication to the San Jose Mercury News. It was not published.
Note that when this was written the entire concept of blogging – and its potential for bringing other voices to […]
The general state of race-relations in America has recently been highlighted nationally by President Clinton’s “Dialogue on Race”, and in California by ballot propositions like 187 (limiting government benefits to illegal immigrants) and 209 (eliminating state-sponsored affirmative-action). The desire for an unemotional and realistic conversation on race — where we stand, where we are headed, and where we want to be — is noble and desirable. It seems, however, that our initial attempts have been thwarted as much by the terms of the conversation as by the subject itself: just as the underlying context, assumptions, and forms of historical discrimination were largely defined by its beneficiaries (to whom ‘race-relations’ were a closed issue), the underlying context, assumptions, and forms of the fight against discrimination — and, more generally, of our discussions about race — have been largely defined by those to whom ‘race-relations’ have historically meant ‘race-based oppression’ — to whom ‘race-relations’ were very much an open issue and a dominant factor of their lives. While this is understandable, and perhaps even just, it almost ensures that racial difference is viewed and debated as a chasm to be crossed — or into which to fall — rather than as a boundary to be transcended.